Dripping Gold
by MB-The Otter
Summary: Tim Drake is a weird man. Jason has been aware of this fact for ages. He also has decided to uncover one of his more random mysteries: Why does Tim have so many shiny things?


**HI, this has one more chapter to go and that'll be it.**

* * *

**Dripping gold**

In the few months that Jason and Tim's truce had turned into a tentative friendship, Jason had time to discover quite a few things about the both of them. Among the things he learned, was that Tim had a weird collection of random and _insanely_ valuable items. It made unease pool at the bottom of Jason's stomach, and curiosity spike every time he sauntered into Tim's space and found the rare items. The various things being a contrast to Tim's usual choices of practicality over luxury, stood out against his simple-man life.

Sure, with all the Wayne and Drake money combined, Jason supposed Tim could buy _anything_, anytime. But Tim wasn't the type to spend in more than was necessary, and it did not make sense that some of the things he flaunted around were so… Vain with no reason.

(Like the time he appeared in a gala dressed like a haute-couture model —more so than usual— with gold glaring at every step, and kohl around his eyes. Or like the green and gold tapestry hanging from his bedroom wall, from ceiling to ground, depicting a delightful scene of flowers in bloom. Or the showcase in the middle of the living room in his apartment with a delicate vase that looked out of place among the minimalist décor. Or the necklace of rubies and diamonds adorning his cave, or the priceless jacket sowed by hand in Japan that he never used, or-

Yeah.

All of those little details that Jason paid attention to and Tim didn't pay any mind. It was out of character, since he seemed fonder of more useful things, for him to have such objects around.)

Especially since he used them in few, special occasions, or stored them safely in the privacy of his home, away from prying eyes. It discarded the idea of Tim putting on a show for the public with them, and so the mystery remained.

Naturally, as a curious ex-Robin, Jason decided to look for the reason his sort-of _friend_ was collecting so many useless trash —albeit pretty trash. Trash that suited him sometimes, and made Jason feel funny—, and that's how his small adventure begun.

* * *

His plan was set to work soon enough. He and Tim had been working on a case together for the past week, and they were to meet in Tim's apartment to discuss some of it. While Jason knew that talking banalities while working on something important was dangerous, he had never been good at keeping his curiosity to himself, part of being influenced by a bat. It was damn weird that the replacement had a growing collection of shiny things, Jason had to know _why_.

"Yo, baby bird? What the hell's up with this?" He tried to sound as casual as possible, poking his head out of the kitchen. He was dealing with a detective here, and it would be stupid to reveal his intentions before he could discover the truth.

(He felt a little silly, though, fixating on such a stupid thing. But there weren't many pastimes available for a dead man, and this looked harmless enough.)

Tim didn't raise his eyes from the computer before him, instead shrugging and batting his hand. "I don't know, Jason, just bring the coffee already!"

Jason huffed, hands tightening where he was holding two mugs. The weird, silver figurine sitting upon the cupboard glared at him with hollow eyes. It was bizarre to see it there, among the pristine grays of the kitchen, like an idol in a horror movie. Jason wondered if it was cursed. He took a few minutes of observation —mostly to piss Tim off, but also to take in the detail of the sculpted doll—, and returned to the living room that also painted a weird scene. All black and white, with random spots of either hyper-modern art or peculiar antiquities.

He decided, right then, that Tim didn't know shit about home décor.

(And that he was never to be trusted with the arrangement of their mental retirement home, even if it was just a fantasy. No need to have him ruin the dreaming with his awful styling decisions, at least not in Jason's brain. He'd end up putting crystals by the window and causing an imaginary fire.)

"Took you long enough," Tim muttered once his coffee was secured between his hands. He was such a little shit, sometimes, it made Jason want to give him decaf. Only thing stopping him was his reticence to watch Tim lose his mind, and his arguable wanting to live, if the beverage was taken away from him.

"You know you have legs too, right?"

"Ha, ha. Focus, Hood, we are going to be here all night."

Jason snorted, and did not focus. Instead, he choose to sit on the corner of the couch, and watch Tim work while sipping from his own mug. He didn't have the skill Tim had with hacking into government agencies —although he _was_ able to—, and his help came in the form of fists and street knowledge that Tim couldn't get without spending too many hours out.

He vaguely wondered how Tim managed. The younger man was working as the head of a company, patrolling every night, and managing a team of supers on the side. Jason took another sip of his ginger tea, staring at the dark circles under Tim's eyes, and his greenish skin. No wonder he dropped out of school when he was younger. Jason relaxed more into the couch, let his eyes begin to drop, tried to imagine Tim as just another college student pulling an all-nighter instead of a man trying to change the world.

His stomach was slowly turning into knots that, he was afraid, he couldn't untangle.

* * *

"Seriously, Timmy, what's up with these?" He repeated, a few weeks later, carrying two bags of food to the kitchen. There was a new showcase, tall, and thin, just beside the hallway. Inside, there were a bunch of mostly-golden coins. It wasn't especially pleasant to look at, and stood out against the rest of the apartment. Jason wondered if Tim had a strange fixation with the things, or if perhaps it was part of a childhood collection. Then again, who stores possibly precious things like that?

Tim blinked at him from his spot on the couch, as if the answer should be obvious. Jason raised an eyebrow, and moved to put the ingredients out of the bags.

"They're mine," He stated, looking genuinely confused "so they're here."

Jason stared at Tim for a few seconds, then deemed that unworthy of an answer, and continued his making of food in Tim's pretty kitchen. _They're mine_, he said, as if it weren't obvious. So much for a genius brain, right there. Jason sighed, and decided to lose himself in the meditative motions of cooking. It always had a relaxing effect, the feeling of his hands being useful at _making_ something, for a change, filled him with old warmth and the precious taste of ease.

It helped that Tim's kitchen was a thing of beauty, so different from the simple designs of his own safe-houses. Probably because Tim had a stable place, unlike Jason who ran around in a hectic pace and didn't bother with keeping his space more comfortable than was necessary.

Though he did dream. He sighed and let his mind wander to the pretty fantasy that haunted most of his silent moments these days. As always, it made his stomach clench, and gave him the urge to hum. Jason Todd was a soft and sappy man inside, he could admit that. Could own it, in the right mood. And, as long as his impossibilities remained inside his head, he figured it wasn't bad to dream. After all, he could at least let himself have _this_.

("_This" _being a nice life, where Tim somehow didn't reject his feelings, and where Jason was stable enough to commit to a healthy relationship. And, of course —his favorite part— a glorious imaginary house, a few pets, and no worries. Except, perhaps, the amount of trash he'd need to keep Tim from putting into the house.

It was silly. Jason tried not to judge himself too much.)

Almost two hours later, he finally sighed and stretched towards the ceiling with a loud yawn. Lunch was finally done. He turned around, intent on dragging Tim from the sofa to help him put the table, and almost jumped out of his skin when he found him leaning against the door frame. Tim gave him a crooked grin —it made him look like a teen, softened his stone features a bit—, and invaded the kitchen fully.

"It smells delicious in here, want me to put the table?" He asked, already getting the plates from the cupboard.

In his way, Tim managed to knock the silver idol from its perch on the counter. It fell with a clattering sound, and Tim almost fell himself, shrieking in surprise.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." He exclaimed, looking down in horror, hands raised as if he could break the figurine if he tried to touch it.

"Don't worry so much, it is metal, see? It's not actually damaged." Jason crouched to pick it up, and held it to Tim's horrified face.

Something gleamed in Tim's dilated eyes, but it was gone in a blink, tension leaving his body too. He watched, mesmerized, as Tim blushed and tried to hide his embarrassed expression by turning to the side. Jason felt a tug at his chest from inside, and willed his heart to _stop_ _fucking_ _things_ _up_. He didn't need Tim noticing the effect he had in him. Tim cleared his throat. He carefully took the doll from Jason's hand, inspecting it more closely.

"Sorry for screaming, I just really… Like it." He said lamely. Jason snorted, and got back up.

"You're welcome. Now, off to prepare the table, I'm hungry as fuck."

* * *

His curiosity wasn't sated with such a ridiculous answer. Jason pondered, as he and Tim gorged down donuts at three in the morning a few days later, why on earth Tim was so fond of those weird items.

He seemed like the perfect practical man, making plans ahead for _everything_, dressed always in comfortable clothing. His room was a mess of both cheap, and high tech stuff, but all of it served a purpose. The majority of his safe-houses where pristine, bare places. Even his tailored suits, that were expensive as hell, were all used for attaining something. The shiny stuff, however, had no explanation, and was driving Jason crazy.

But in a fun sort of way.

It had been too long since investigating something out of curiosity, and he was grateful for the distraction. As he munched loudly on his donut, he thought about just following Tim around to see how he obtained the mysterious things. He hummed.

"What." Tim asked through a full mouth. Jason snorted at the sight, and almost choked with his donut.

"Nothing, Mr. Whale."

"That's Mr. Drake-Whale for you, insolent mutt." He retorted, and stuck out his tongue. Jason barked a laugh this time, asking himself how someone with half chewed bits of donut on his tongue could look so adorable.

They continued going back and forth with increasingly stupid comebacks, the last bites of food forgotten. Jason's chest heaved with laughter, and Tim's cheeks flushed. It hurt a little bit in all the good ways to see his baby bird so at ease. It was a bursting tickle inside his ribs, Tim's eyes shining with mirth, the pull of Tim's smile so unbearable… And he was _so close_, their sides touching, if he could just _move_ a little bit closer…

Jason cleared his throat and stuffed his mouth with more donut before he could do something stupid.

"Tim, honestly, what the actual fuck."

"Watch your tongue, asshole, I look divine." And, okay, Jason couldn't argue that. Tim _did_ look divine with that headpiece on, it was just so fucking out of place it left Jason reeling.

He decided not to answer, and stepped closer to examine the twinkling little gems that fell gracefully over Tim's hair. The crown —was it even a crown?— looked like something out of a fairytale, and was a ridiculous accessory when coupled with plain grey sweatpants and a generic white shirt. Tim didn't even bother to look up from his half-finished pizza, every munch making the jewels bounce a bit.

What the fuck indeed.

"Is this another Ra's Al Ghul thing? Tim. _Tim_, tell me this is _not_ a Ra's Al Ghul thing. The creep trying to woo you by throwing you out of a building was bad enough."

"It is not!" Tim paused, "I mean, not really? Ra's _did_ send the headpiece but that's a completely isolated incident. I'm wearing it because it's mine."

And he shrugged, like that was enough for answering why the fuck he accepted Ra's' gift. Jason rubbed his temple and let himself fall on the couch, close to Tim. This was just ridiculous. Had Ra's gifted Tim other things beside this? Now that he thought about it, was Ra's the cause of so many shiny things around Tim? The old fart had made his intentions towards Tim clear. Was… Was Tim okay with that? With a goddamned _supervillain_ trying to get into his pants? Jason felt like throwing up.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, Tim continued chewing his pizza. It was unnerving how calm he appeared, and, even if Jason didn't want to think about it, he had to consider that Ra's could possibly be Tim's… _Sugar Daddy._

Fuck.

After leaving Tim's apartment earlier than planned —with a flimsy excuse of stomach ache—, Jason thought the matter with a cooler head. He had no evidence to prove that his fears where true. Tim was a smart man, a stone cold manipulator, he could outthink the Head of the Demon; if there was someone that couldn't fall for Ra's' mind games, that was Tim. So there _had_ to be something else, something he wasn't seeing. And, this time, after hearing who was involved, Jason decided to pursue the answer more seriously.

The things didn't stop appearing though.

A few days later, Jason walked into Tim's apartment with resolve and five bags of groceries hanging from his arms. He was on his way to the kitchen to make a delicious meal, with enough leftovers they could eat after patrol, when he spotted the new addition. Almost hidden by the furniture, on the other side of the living room, inside a case, there was a fucking replica of his helmet. Jason almost tripped from the shock.

"Uh, babe?" he asked, not removing his eyes from the shining trophy. "Baby bird." He added quickly, almost stumbling with the words.

Tim popped his head out of the room a little further away, looking messy as hell, and not wearing a shirt. The asshole had the nerve to give him a toothy grin that turns Jason's insides into a poodle.

"You called?" Tim said, popping his lips innocently.

"I feel like I've said this before but- _Tim, what the fuck?_"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Tim replies, then comes out of the room completely to lean against the wall. Jason's too fixated on the new figure to retort with something small. This was… Not something he could deal with. His breath was starting to accelerate, as stupid as that sounded, and he could feel himself slip into Red Hood to stop the quavering of his belly.

"I am going to go." He said, and did just that, bags of groceries still in his arms.

The way back home —not home, not _really—_ was an out-of-body experience. He knew what he must have looked like, walking stiffly like a madman in the middle of crime alley, but no matter how much he screamed inside to _fucking go back and stop ruining it_, his body didn't answer.

He stayed inside the rest of the night, bags forgotten on one corner of the safe-house, staring at the wall numbly. Tim did not come after him, and Jason decidedly didn't think about it.

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